Nevertheless, the boys realised that they were stuck for the time being and the breakfast was very good, so there was no point in making any moves just yet. However, one of them, Al Fletcher, was eyeing up the upstairs room for any rich pickings. It was rumoured that old ‘Fagin’ hoarded money and jewels in his flat, and if there was a chance of nicking something without the old man noticing, then he was always ‘up for it’. Not a nice lad – this Fletcher.
Walther flitted from shop to sitting room for most of the morning. The storm continued without the slightest sign of abating. He was growing more than concerned. The boys should be off and out of here as soon as possible. He couldn’t look after them all day – or possibly all night.
He called up the stairs and shouted to see if they were hungry. There was no reply and Walther heard the slight sound of laughter. He called up again.
‘Boys, is everything all right?’
Fletcher appeared at the top of the stairs. He was grinning.
‘Everything’s fine, you old git. We’re leaving now.’
Walther was aghast.
‘No, you can't leave. It's awful out there. You’ll never make it home. Stay a while longer and I’ll cook lunch.’
However, the boys were having none of it and Fletcher started down the stairs as Walther started up. The boy charged down and met Walther half way. He barged past the old man quickly followed by the other three boys. They ran through the shop and out into the street leaving the front door wide open.
Walther had been taken by surprise and not being terribly strong on his pins, missed his footing and fell down the stairs. It wasn’t a long fall – maybe six or seven steps but it was far enough to break Walther’s hip as he landed.
He cried out in acute pain as he lay prostrate at the foot of the stairs.
He could hear the boys leaving the shop. He cried out:
‘Boys, please help me! Help! Don’t leave – you’ll freeze. Please help me! For the love of God.’
But the boys had disappeared into the whiteout to face their own doom and Walther was left alone and immobile at the bottom of the stairs. The front door to his shop had been left wide open, allowing the freezing weather to seep in.
Day 2 – Grantham, Lincolnshire – 2:10pm
Brady and Jane Kelly sat and watched the Prime Minister in silence. Although they could scarcely believe their ears, they only had to look out of the first floor window to realise the validity of what he was saying.
Brady was truly shocked by the situation.
‘I’m stunned by how quickly society has crumbled. How fast everything has just fallen to pieces. I know that this country cannot deal with even the slightest snowfall – but to be reduced to complete helplessness in less than thirty six hours is little short of incredible.’
Of course, Brady was in yet deeper shock. His family dying in this storm was confirmation enough of the disaster facing the country. The really worrying thing was the extent and ferociousness of the snow cover. It stretched to all four corners of the kingdom – no one seemed to have been spared.
‘I can't believe that the government has given up so easily. Surely there is something that they can do,’ chimed in Jane.
Brady tried to explain.
‘What can they do? They are completely unprepared for this situation. The scale of the disaster is unprecedented and nigh on impossible to deal with. The British are just not trained for these conditions. This type of weather will kill anyone out in the open in a matter of minutes. There is little the Government can do. God knows what will happen if it doesn’t stop snowing soon. And God help anyone still out in this. The met men seem to think that this could last for weeks. Weeks! There will be no one left.’
Jane sat in silence. Then she remembered her fiancé in Warwick.
‘I must ring my boyfriend –I’d completely forgotten him in all this excitement.’
She checked her phone and found it dead. Flat battery.
‘Can I use your phone please Andrew?’ she plead.
‘Go ahead, it's in the hall’.
Brady continued to watch the TV and started flicking through the channels. There wasn’t much on. Many channels were just blank or showing recorded programmes. In fact, he couldn’t find anything live at all. Even Sky News was off air. He tried Al Jazeera but they were doing a feature on holidays in Tunisia.
Jane traipsed back into the room.
‘I couldn’t remember his mobile number – isn’t that always the way. I tried the flat but he’s not there. I’m sure he’ll be OK – he’s not stupid. He’ll have taken shelter somewhere – I’m sure.’
‘I’m sure he will.’ Brady didn’t sound convinced.
‘We’ve got to do something to protect ourselves in the longer term, Jane. For a start, you should not try to leave here in the immediate future. The PM was right. We should stay indoors at all costs. We’ll have to get all our food, bedclothes and water into one room. I suggest the sitting room upstairs as it's nearest to the bathroom and boiler. We’ll have to get as much warm clothing and bedding in there as possible.’
Jane held up her hands indignant with Brady.
‘Hey, just a minute. Who made you the boss of me? I’ve only known you twenty bloody minutes and here you are running my life. I’m quite capable of looking after myself, thank you very much!’
Brady gave her a cold stare.
‘Fine by me. Sort yourself out, but don’t come crying to me when icicles start forming on your earlobes! And just where do you think you’re going in this? You wouldn’t last ten minutes out there on your own, and you bloody well know it! I’m an expert and I damned well know it!’
Jane frowned and sat down. Head in hands she let out a long sigh.
‘Yes, of course, you're right. I’m sorry. I just can't get my head round all this. It's happening so quickly. I’m scared’.
‘You're right to be. This is a scary scenario. Lots of people are going to die before this is all over. Many have already.’
Brady was trying to maintain calm and sat down facing Jane.
Suddenly, there was a thumping on the front door and the bell rang.
‘Who the hell is that?’ he cried out as he rushed to the window to get a better view.
‘Jesus Christ!’ he exclaimed.
He rushed out of the room, followed closely by Jane, and grabbed his anorak. He reached the front door and unlocked it. He stepped into the white and grabbed blindly for the small snow covered figure and pulled it inside. The figure collapsed onto the floor as Brady turned to see what appeared to be a giant snowman move through the entrance and close the door behind him. He too collapsed onto the floor of Brady’s hall.
Brady quickly put his weight to the door, closed it and turned the key. Both of the prostrate figures lay still, panting heavily.
‘Jane, quickly, let's try to help these people.’
Brady went to the smaller bundle and turned it over. He wiped the snow from the face and realised that it was a young boy close to unconsciousness. Jane reached for him and Brady barked instructions.
‘Get a duvet and some pillows. I’ll carry the boy up after I’ve taken his outer layers off – they are soaked anyway. Get the kettle on and dig out some Bovril. Make lots. Warm up some of that food we got earlier. There’s a microwave in the kitchen. We’ll deal with the man later. This boy is suffering from hypothermia. Run a hot bath – there should be lots of hot water – we've had a new boiler fitted recently.’
Brady patted the boy’s face trying to bring him to consciousness.
‘What's your name, boy?’
‘It’s Chris’. The boy hadn’t said a word. The snowman had removed his hat and gloves and was sitting up.
‘And I’m Mike. Thank God you answered. We’ve tried dozens of doors along here.’
‘You're very lucky. We just got in ourselves. Quick, help me remove his jacket - and his trousers’.
They semi-stripped the young boy and Brady carried him rapidly up the sta
irs, followed by Mike, who had also removed his wet outer clothing, abandoning it in the hall.
Jane had already laid out a duvet and pillows on the sofa and Brady set the boy down and covered him up. The hot bath water was running and Brady started by rubbing the boy’s limbs. He took off his socks and applied friction to the freezing feet. Luckily, there were no signs of frostbite.
By this time, Jane had brought in two large mugs of Bovril, one of which Brady attempted to feed the boy. Mike, who had slumped in an armchair, slurped his mug-full down greedily. He also wolfed down a warmed-up giant sausage that Jane had microwaved.
‘Is that bath ready yet? We should try to get him in it now. I’ll get his underclothes off. We’ll have to ignore his modesty for the present.’
Brady stripped the lad – Chris – and lifted him off the sofa. He was still limp but now semi-conscious. Brady took him into the bathroom and laid him gently into the bath. It wasn’t too hot so Brady could turn off the cold supply and add more hot water. The boy perked up almost immediately. As the hot water took effect, Chris started to come round.
‘Alright, Chris, you're safe now. Can you hear me?’
The boy spluttered and coughed but managed a narrow smile.
‘Hello, yes, I can hear you. Where am I? Where’s Mike?’
Brady nodded and suggested that Jane went and got Mike from the other room.
‘My feet are hurting,’ whimpered Chris.
‘That's the life coming back into them. Lucky for you there's no frostbite. Sit up now, and we’ll think about getting you out of this bath and dressed. Hang on here while I go and get you some fresh clothes’.
Brady handed over the care of Chris to Mike, and then went upstairs to his son’s room. He quickly gathered up enough stuff to fit Chris and rushed downstairs as quickly as he could. He could not bear to be in his dead son’s room any longer than necessary.
By the time he got to the bathroom, Chris was standing with a large bath towel draped around him, chatting happily with Mike – who himself was beginning to recover nicely.
‘Well, you two, come into the sitting room and tell us all about it and we can complete some proper introductions.’
Brady handed the clothes over to Mike and went to join Jane in the other room.
‘Is he OK?’ she queried.
‘He’ll be fine once he’s had another warm drink and some food. Do you want to get one of those chickens divvied up and they can both tuck in?’
Brady then glanced in the corner and saw that Jane had pre-empted him, and a small banquet lay on the table.
‘Way ahead of you,’ she laughed.
The other two joined them and so began the two stories of their adventures to that point. Between mouthfuls, Chris explained about his concerns for his mother, and Mike asked if he could phone his wife back in Barrow. Mike was lucky, as he got through on the landline and was able to explain his situation and that he would get home as soon as he could. However, his wife was near to hysteria as their two children were still stuck at school. She had delivered them at 8.45 that morning and was unable to go and collect them due to the weather. She’d seen the Prime Ministers broadcast and was now filled with terror and concern.
Mike did his best to console her but there was little he could do from Grantham. He tried to calm her down, attempting to convince her that the children would be safe at school and promised that he’d be home as soon as possible – even if he had to walk to Barrow!
Mike’s wife was tearful as she hung up.
Brady observed the scene with sincere sympathy and asked Mike what he really intended to do.
‘I’ve got to go home. I’ve got to try. I know it's damn near impossible but they are all I have. I must try. Maybe there's a way. By back roads or on a train. I must try. I can't just sit here doing nothing. I’ll even go back to the cab and try to turn it round and barge my way home – it's powerful enough.’
The other three looked at Mike and knew that there was no way to persuade him otherwise. They’d do exactly the same in his position.
After about thirty minutes Mike gathered up his clothing and started to re-dress. Brady gave him a pair of old snow boots and a pair of gloves and ski-goggles.
‘They might help a bit,’ he offered.
‘Thanks – I’m going to need all the help and luck I can get,’
Jane had parcelled up some food and a hot thermos flask she found in the kitchen and wrapped them all in a supermarket freezer bag.
‘Good luck, Mike,’ she ventured with sincerity, and sat down.
Mike turned to Chris to bid his farewells.
‘Hope you find your mum, Chris, and you can understand why I’ve got to go. I enjoyed our little adventure. Good luck, lad.’
Brady led the way downstairs to the front door, resigned to the fact that he couldn’t stop Mike from trying to rescue his family – thinking that he would do exactly the same if the tables were turned. They shook hands and Brady opened the door. The wind had dropped a bit and the conditions were not quite as bad as an hour before – but it was still grim.
‘Thanks, good luck – I hope you make it - and God Bless you all,’ shouted Mike through his balaclava, and walked into the snow.
Brady hesitated for a second and then slammed the door shut and locked it once more.
Now he was responsible for three lives.
Day 2 – Central London - 6:00pm
Power cuts had started at midday. Electricity cables were down across the country and, combined with a dearth of staffing and maintenance crews, a general lack of ability to clear problems and breakdowns, the electrical energy supply to the UK was severely interrupted.
As a consequence, the knock on effects of a negligible power supply were almost limitless.
No lighting. No heating. No hot water (unless you had a gas supply and generally, there was an electrical control to kick-start heat the water heater anyway). No power – no television – no communication with the populace. No internet. No hot food.
If the gas supplies also ceased, then untold hardship would follow.
A tough night lay ahead. Many households had taken in waifs and strays from abandoned cars, buses and trains. But this just added to the strain. People couldn’t communicate with their distant families as mobile phones ran flat and landlines failed. This caused ever more stress – and distress.
Fires broke out – as they do - and went unaddressed. The Fire Service could not respond. Most of the Fire Fighters in the UK were fighting for their own survival – in traffic jams on choked roads.
Hospitals were badly affected. Even though many had their own back-up power systems, these had a limited life span and it wasn’t long before patients were being left to their own devices. Access to and from hospitals was just as difficult as anywhere else.
Food was not yet an issue, but water was. In temperatures of below minus ten degrees C, water in pipes was beginning to freeze solid. There was generally no central heating to boost the water temperature, so the freeze was hastened. (The pumps and controls in CH systems are electrically operated).
All of this misery was being dumped on the great British public with virtually no notice. The snow continued to fall and was up to four feet deep in places. The wind howled unceasingly and people were freezing where they fell.
Not many would survive for long.
The Prime Minister was spot on when he stated that it was ‘every man for himself.’
After just thirty hours of incessant snowfall, the UK was close to a standstill!
Day 2 – Cambridge – 2:00pm
Rachel Spencer had caught the last train out of Cambridge at 10:02 that morning. It was full. Chock-full. Mostly with students leaving university for the Christmas holidays, having stayed on for the weekend for those final undergrad parties that were common at this seasonal time.
Rachel had a small haversack and a medium sized suitcase – mostly filled with washing for her mother when she reached the family home in Norwich.
She’d been lucky to catch this train as the guard had indicated that it was indeed the last to leave Cambridge today – and only because the crew lived in Norwich and had pressed their case.
The journey started well enough and although it was painfully slow going, the train chugged along and the passengers on board took little notice of the conditions just the other side of the glass windows. As far as they were concerned it was all just a little bit Christmassy.
By 10:50 they had reached the outskirts of Bury St Edmunds, but there the train stopped.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 16
